


I Will Live

by bcbdrums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Brother Mine AU, Character Death, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bcbdrums/pseuds/bcbdrums
Summary: Suddenly he feels it—like a hot blade being pushed inside him, and then being punched with an oversized fist right over the wound—pain.In a flash he realizes he did hear the ricochet of the bullet at least once.  But it had all happened so fast his brain was still catching up.[Open the fic and read the notes - writing challenge within!]





	1. I Will Live

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A little less than ten years ago I posted a challenge on FF.net to write an AU to 3GAR, or "The Three Garridebs" for those who don't know the ACD canon abbreviations. We've all mentally rewritten that scene anyway, so why not?
> 
> Now I'm asking for people to write their AU to the "Brother Mine" scene in TFP ("Brother Mine" being the title of the soundtrack for the scene where Sherlock had to choose between John and Mycroft). I have a similar feeling, that we've all imagined that scene going a few different ways. So let's write them all down and share them!
> 
> Use the tag "Brother Mine AU" so we can all find each other's versions. Please tag everything appropriately so readers know what they are getting into.
> 
> Also please spread the word about this challenge! I'll be posting several responses myself, as individual chapters in this story. So my first shot at this is what I think would have most likely happened had Eurus not tranquilized them.
> 
> Happy writing/reading!

 

"Ten."  
  
John glances in disbelief at Mycroft.  The government official is staring in open horror at his younger brother.  
  
_"No, no, Sherlock!"_  
  
"Nine."  
  
He wouldn't really.  Would he?  
  
"Eight."  
  
Of course he would.  
  
_"You can't!"_  
  
"Seven."  
  
Death has been following him for years.  He's almost eager for it to come.  
  
_"You don't know about Redbeard yet!"_  
  
"Six."  
  
His face is completely void of emotion, his eyes fixed on the blank wall opposite.  His voice and hand are steady.  
  
_"Sherlock!"_  
  
"Five."  
  
But John's breaths are beginning to quicken.  
  
_"Sherlock, stop that at once!"_  
  
"Four."  
  
He faintly registers the frantic voice coming through the speakers and ignores it, his eyes not leaving Sherlock's dull ones.  The baritone voice hasn't slowed for an moment.  
  
"Three."  
  
And he knows that there is no trick this time.  
  
_"Stop it!  Stop it now!"_  
  
"Two."  
  
It's not a game anymore.  And whatever it is, is about to end.  
  
Sherlock's head turns ever so slightly and he blinks once, the sterility leaving his eyes to be replaced instantly with sorrow as he fixes them on John's.  
  
"One."  
  
Before the word has even fully left his lips, John is moving.  
  
Like a lion springing upon prey, John clears the distance between them in a single leap and his hands are gripping the barrel of the gun and pushing it aside.  
  
"No!" he cries in time with the gun's retort.  
  
In the small room the sound is deafening, but his ringing ears don't matter in comparison to the sight in front of him.  
  
Sherlock Holmes, blinking in shock.  Perhaps in relief.  Perhaps in fear.  
  
Alive, and uninjured.  
  
John can't help but smile his relief.  
  
And that's when he feels it—like a hot blade being pushed inside him, and then being punched with an oversized fist right over the wound—pain.  
  
In a flash he realizes he did hear the ricochet of the bullet at least once.  But it had all happened so fast his brain was still catching up.  
  
Apparently so was Sherlock's.  
  
Mere inches away from his the detective's face was changing in startling rapidity from relief to confusion, then to realization and back to fear.  
  
"John?"  
  
John blinked as he logged the feeling of blood pumping around and through the wound.  It's entirely different from when he had been shot in Afghanistan.  Not only was the wound in a different location, but the bullet in that situation had been designed to mutilate.  
  
This was a clean, simple wound.  
  
But it would be no less fatal.  
  
"John?  Mycroft?" the detective glanced quickly at his brother, who was taking a step back and looking at the doctor.  Mycroft's eyes widened as he saw what Sherlock still couldn't.  
  
And then as the shock hit, all of John's senses dulled and he barely registered the impact of his knees on the hard floor.  
  
"No!  John!"  
  
Suddenly Sherlock's arms were around him and stopped his fall there.  He hissed in pain as Sherlock's hand found the wound in his lower back and pressed against it.  
  
"Sherl—" he attempted, but his breath died before he could finish.  
  
_"Oh...  Well, this isn't the result I was hoping for but there's still more we can do."_  
  
"John."  
  
John squinted for a moment until his eyes focused on Sherlock kneeling at eye level with him as he sat back on his heels.  
  
Strangely, he could think of nothing to say.  
  
He watched his friend's head turn toward the TV screen on the wall behind him.  
  
"Eurus, he needs medical attention!"  
  
_"But we're ready to continue now.  You had to kill either Mycroft or Dr. Watson.  You've killed Dr. Watson.  Will it be necessary to wait until he actually expires or can we press on?  We're nearly finished."_  
  
Sherlock looked between John and Eurus for a moment, thinking quickly.  
  
"Can I bring him if I continue now?"  
  
_"What use is a dead body?"_  
  
"No, I mean— If I continue and finish your game, will you let me help him?"  
  
_"It's not a game, Sherlock."_  
  
"Will you let me help him?" he cried, his voice breaking.  
  
John glanced past his friend's dark curls to the screen, where Eurus was frowning thoughtfully.  
  
_"No."_  
  
Sherlock gasped his disgust and turned back, his hand pressing more tightly against the wound.  
  
His eyes locked on John's and he gazed at him in perplexity.  
  
"Why?"  
  
John's shoulders were shaking now, and if not for Sherlock's support he'd have been on his back bleeding out.  
  
"Couldn't let you die," he says in one quivering breath.  
  
"But you'd be safe," Sherlock argued.  
  
"I doubt it," John said.  "And besides..."  
  
Sherlock leaned in closer.  
  
"I couldn't...live with myself, if I...if I let you do it."  
  
"John," Sherlock said, his eyes now bright with the threat of tears.  
  
"Sherlock, I need you...to do something for me.  Promise."  
  
The detective nodded.  
  
"See that Rosie is well looked-after."  
  
Sherlock swallowed as his lips began to tremble.  
  
"I promise," he said, nodding again.  
  
"And...something else," John said shakily.  
  
His eyes glazed suddenly and Sherlock drew closer, tightening his arms around him.  
  
"John!"  
  
John blinked back to awareness and his teeth clenched for a moment as he fought the pain.  
  
"Sherlock.  Promise me..."  
  
"Anything," the detective said.  
  
John lifted one hand and set it heavily on Sherlock's shoulder.  
  
"I need you to live."  
  
Sherlock blinked several times as the trembling in his lips increased.  
  
"Without you?" he finally managed, smiling as if in jest.  
  
John nodded.  And suddenly his voice was as steady as it had ever been.  
  
"You need to go on protecting the world from people like her.  Because you are a hero."  
  
Sherlock pressed his lips together and nodded shakily.  
  
"You saved my life, utterly.  You are the most human human being I have known, and you always have been.  Keep on being a hero.  The world needs you."  
  
"But—" Sherlock closed his eyes and glanced away, fighting off the tears.  "But I need _you_."  
  
John's hand grew heavier on Sherlock's shoulder and a shudder ran through his hunched frame.  He cried out in pain and fell back against Sherlock's arms as he slipped the rest of the way to the floor.  
  
Sherlock caught John and supported him fully as his legs unfolded a bit, now they weren't holding him up.  Sherlock moved so close that there was hardly any space between them.  
  
Several seconds passed as John breathed quickly in and out, his eyes tightly closed as he fought against the pain.  
  
"I can't..." Sherlock said quietly, watching John's pain-lined face.  "I can't do it without you.  I don't know how anymore."  
  
Despite the agony, John nodded fiercely.  
  
"Yes you can," he gasped.  "You've got to.  Promise me."  
  
"John," he said, shaking his head.  
  
"It's my dying request, Sherlock," he said with a bit of irony, opening his eyes to look at the detective.  
  
Their eyes stay locked for several moments before Sherlock finally nodded.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"I promise."  
  
"And don't..." John gasped, "don't blame Mycroft.  It's not his fault."  
  
Sherlock remembered his brother and turned toward him, noting the open shock on his face as he watched from several paces back.  When he met the older man's eyes he saw the guilt and devastation written there plain for all to see.  
  
Sherlock turned back.  "It is his fault."  
  
"No, not this," John said.  "I chose this.  _This_ is who I wanted to be.  _This_ ," he gasped, "is how I wanted...to spend my life."  
  
Sherlock's expression sobered as John's full meaning became clear.  
  
"And I will spend mine honoring yours," he said slowly.  
  
John shook his head.  "Remember me.  Grieve me if you like.  But don't...linger there."  
  
Suddenly his eyes rolled back and his head followed.  Sherlock quickly caught him with a hand behind his neck.  
  
"John!"  
  
John blinked several times to bring his vision into focus again.  His fingers gripped Sherlock's lapel.  
  
"You've _got_ to keep going.  Keep on being a hero, for me.  Be Sherlock Holmes."  
  
Sherlock pursed his lips and gave a slight nod.  
  
_"Now he's repeating himself.  It's getting tedious, are you about through?"_  
  
Sherlock didn't spare a glance for Eurus, watching as John's gaze kept slipping down and away from his own.  
  
"John.  John, look at me!"  
  
With effort, he did so, his expression tired and questioning.  
  
Sherlock stared into his eyes, lost for words.  All the words he could think to say weren't his own.  
  
"Sherlock..." John said softly, his gaze slipping again.  
  
"Please don't die," Sherlock blurted out.  
  
John actually laughed.  "I don't want to.  But I don't have a choice."  
  
"I need you.  I—  I..."  
  
"Yeah.  I know, Sherlock.  It's okay."  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
"Doesn't matter."  
  
John clenched his teeth as a wave of pain hit him again.  His head fell forward and hit Sherlock's cheek for a moment before he lifted it with effort.  His breaths were loud and ragged.  
  
He leaned his head back into Sherlock's hand in order to meet his friend's eyes with his half-lidded ones.  
  
"Sherlock..."  
  
"John?"  
  
Sherlock's breath caught as he felt the pulsing of blood beneath his hand slow and finally stop.  The quick, heavy breaths suddenly stilled as one soft slow one was released.  And the deep blue eyes locked with his became dull and vacant.  
  
"John?  John, _no_ ," Sherlock pleaded.  
  
John never heard the desperate pleas.

He never felt the hot tears that were cried into his neck, nor heard the sobs that accompanied them for many minutes after.  
  
He never saw the thin pools of moisture build in Mycroft's tired, reddening eyes.  
  
He never felt himself being finally, reverently laid on his back on the floor.  
  
He didn't see the horror on Sherlock's face when he looked at his hand stained bright red with blood.  
  
He didn't feel his hands, now cold, being folded over his chest.  Nor was he aware when two trembling fingers gently closed his eyelids.  
  
He never felt the tender hand placed on his shoulder as his friend knelt beside him.  And he never heard the final words spoken to him, whispered with renewed fervor into his ear.  
  
"I will live."

 

FIN


	2. I Trusted You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Here is my second 'Brother Mine AU' ficlet. I want to remind readers that each chapter of this fic is a different one-shot. None of these will be continued.  
> So here we are--same setting, different character choices, different outcome. Of all the ideas I have for this scene, I think this one is the most devastating of all.

 

* * *

"Ten."  
  
Steady.  
  
"Nine."  
  
Unblinking.  
  
"Eight."  
  
Not a tremor in his being.  
  
"Seven."  
  
Not a single pause, no hesitation.  
  
"Six."  
  
But he wouldn't do it.  
  
"Five."  
  
Not again.  He wouldn't do this to him again.  
  
"Four."  
  
Not for real.  
  
"Three."  
  
He couldn't—not and still keep his vow.  
  
"Two."  
  
With a single blink Sherlock's eyes lost their vacant stare.  
  
"One."  
  
John's breath caught.  
  
Sherlock hesitated, blinked again, pursed his lips—  
  
"Sherlock?" John whispered.  
  
—and turned the most desperate, pleading eyes to John that he had ever seen.  
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
_"No!"_  
  
John's cry was buried within the bullet's loud retort.  
  
Then in front of him, blood, dancing through the air like fireworks.  
  
A body falling.  
  
To his right, a shout of agony and horror.  
  
On a TV screen beyond, a woman screaming in hysterics.  
  
But it passed through John's mind as if from a distance.  
  
All he could do was feel the pounding of his own heart, the filling of his own lungs.  And think just how _wrong_ that was, when his best friend was dead in front of him by his own hand, and he had done _nothing_ to save him.  
  
He stepped back until he hit the wall and steadied himself against it, staring at the still body crumpled on the floor, a vast pool of red spreading around it now.  
  
Off to his right he vaguely registered Mycroft lowering himself to his knees and bowing his head low.  The gasps of pain and disbelief must have been coming from him?  They weren't quite sobs...the man didn't know how to sob properly.  
  
And John wasn't ready for that yet.  
  
Gathering his strength he pushed himself off the wall and took two steps toward his fallen friend.  
  
"How could you!?" he shouted.  "How is _this_ an answer!"  
  
Lifeless eyes stared back at him.  
  
"You made a vow!  You _promised_ you'd be there for me!  How are you going to do that now!?"  
  
The only answer was the further spreading of the pool of red.  
  
The gasps to his right had stopped, and he was aware that Mycroft was watching him.  
  
"I _trusted_ you!  How am I supposed to get us—!"  
  
He stopped suddenly, as the understanding that there was no longer an 'us' for him to save hit him like a force of nature.  It knocked him back a step, and thankfully into the wall as his feet gave out from under him, and he was able to lean back for support.  
  
"Oh..." the cry escaped his lips as he blinked at the sight of the body once again.  His hands grasped against the wall for something to hold onto as he slid to the floor and landed with a thump.  "Oh, God, no..."  
  
And for several minutes, he taught Mycroft how to sob.

 

FIN


End file.
